


Kinktober 2018: Super 'n Kinky

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Peter Hale, Dom/sub, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Feminization, Foreplay, Fucking Machines, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Cora, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, Kink Discovery, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, Knotting, M/M, Masks, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Other, Overstimulation, POV Multiple, Parent/Child Incest, Partner Swapping, Public Nudity, Public Scene, Public Sex, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Sub Stiles Stilinski, Threesome - M/M/Other, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, sex injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: “Baby,” he murmurs, voice slipping into the register he usually saves for the bedroom, “if you want to keep going to our club back home, get more comfortable submitting in public before you participate at the conference, you know that’s fine. But you were so excited when I told you about it, when we were filling out the forms.”Stiles swallows, his scent turning tangy-sharp with arousal. “Y-yeah, I just. There’s a lot of stuff we do, that we can do, because you’re a werewolf, and,” he shrugs, shoulders pulling inwards as the arousal is joined by embarrassment, “I like that part of our dynamic.”





	1. Framework

**Author's Note:**

> I remain a trashy, kinky hoe. So of course I had to do Kinktober again--although I'm doing something a little different this year. Last year, I did near-daily drabbles. This year, I focussed on a handful of prompts, and wrote short, loosely-connected chapters for them. None of the chapters **_except the first one_** are necessary to understand the other chapters, though they are written in a consistent universe and you might enjoy that. 
> 
> Primary pairing is Steter, but others will sneak in. Tags will update as the work does, with applicable tags for each chapter appearing in the notes for that chapter. 
> 
> Happy Kinktober!

Stiles has been gnawing nonstop—on his nails, his hoodie string, the straw in his water bottle—since they got in the car, and after forty minutes, Peter can’t take it anymore. “Sweetheart, you’re not obligated to participate if you don’t want to. We can still go, because I think you’d enjoy it, but there are lots of people who come to the conference just to observe.”

Stiles’s scent is so layered and muddy that he can’t quite tell what his boy’s feeling, but the way his heartrate slows is telling. “It’s not that I don’t wanna go, or even that I don’t wanna do shit while we’re there. It’s just,” he trails off, and Peter glances at him to see his eyebrows furrowed.

“Take your time, darling. There’s no rush.”

A few minutes later, he speaks again, his words measured and calm in a way they rarely are. “It’s the uncertainty in all this that’s really bothering me. There’s so much that I don’t know, can’t plan for, and it makes me uneasy.” His fingers tap-tap-tap along his jean-clad thighs, and Peter nods, waiting for the rest. Stiles huffs. “Like, are there gonna be people I know there? On the one hand, I’d like that, because it’s good to know who’d have our backs if shit suddenly turned ugly.” At Peter’s raised eyebrow, he pulls a face. “I don’t expect it to, but still. With our luck, it could happen.”

He has to fight not to smile, but, “Fair.”

“But, like, on the other hand? It’d be a lot more comfortable to do this with strangers, in a way, because at least then if they’re judging me, I don’t have to hear about it once we leave.”

Peter reaches over and squeezes Stiles’s knee. “Darling, are you forgetting the waivers we had to sign when we submitted our application? What happens at the conference stays at the conference. It’s why phones and cameras aren’t allowed during scheduled events.”

The boy sighs. “I know, but like—I can’t help thinking that if Scott managed to hear about this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Peter snorts. “Sweetheart, your best friend wouldn’t make it past the vetting process, let alone be allowed to attend any of the events.” He glances over, and sees Stiles nibbling his bottom lip. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice slipping into the register he usually saves for the bedroom, “if you want to keep going to our club back home, get more comfortable submitting in public before you participate at the conference, you know that’s fine. But you were so excited when I told you about it, when we were filling out the forms.”

Stiles swallows, his scent turning tangy-sharp with arousal. “Y-yeah, I just. There’s a lot of stuff we do, that we _can_ do, because you’re a werewolf, and,” he shrugs, shoulders pulling inwards as the arousal is joined by embarrassment, “I like that part of our dynamic. And it—it kinda sucks, sometimes, that none of our kinky human friends can know about that. I was—I want to be able to talk about that part of our relationship, but I don’t know whether I’d rather it be with a bunch of anonymous assholes I never have to see again if they’re judgy or I embarrass myself, or if I want to make friends, or if I’d feel safer if I knew some of the people who’ll be there.”

Peter takes a moment to digest all of that. Then, “Well, if it helps, I know some of the people who’ll be there, including the host. And, well. A lot of them are assholes in same way that you and I are.”

Stiles gasps in mock outrage. “Excuse you! I am a delight!”

He pretends not to hear that. “And, so that you know, there will be some familiar faces for you there.”

Stiles’s heartbeat kicks in surprise. “Oh yeah? Who?”

He gives his most charming grin. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

 


	2. Day 1: Masks + Inflation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: masks, rope bondage, knotting, come inflation, anonymous sex, public sex, public nudity, mentions of safewords, exhibitionism, anal fingering, anal sex, and dirty talk (I think that's everything?)
> 
> Quick note about the event anklets here:  
> pink = my asshole is available for knotting  
> purple = my pussy is open for knotting  
> none = you can look/watch, but no touchie

  
They undress, putting on the white hotel robes and their masks before they head down. Peter’s is a peacock, with a large fan of blue and green feathers covering his forehead and brushing against his ears, but it’s the wickedly-sharp looking beak that Stiles can’t stop staring at. Peter catches him and winks through the mask because he’s an asshole, but it still makes him laugh.

Stiles went for something simpler—a full-face, gold-painted reproduction of Hermes, complete with wings curving around his temples. It lets him feel anonymous enough to go through with this, even though he knows he won’t be, not really, not to a bunch of supernaturals who can track him better than a K9 unit, but the point of this is to pretend. A kind of “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” only without the follow-up quip about herpes because fuck yeah, super-healing.

He’s bouncing as they check in and step inside. Walking down the aisle, lined on one side by bondage tables and benches, and the other by chairs, he feels a shiver of anticipation go down his spine.

That anticipation blossoms into arousal when they walk past a Dom writing “knot this hole” on the back of their sub’s thigh, complete with an arrow pointing towards the sub’s glistening pussy. The purple band around the sub’s ankle would be enough to give it away, so this—this must be personal to them. Stiles cranes his neck to keep looking, and snorts when he sees “NOT this hole” written on the sub’s lower back.

The snort catches Peter’s attention. “Something amusing, pet?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, just getting over my cold feet from earlier.”

Peter smirks, and the twist of his lips looks odd underneath the peacock mask. “It is very warm in here. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable if you lose the robe?”

He blushes, but recognizes that for the order it is, and strips. There aren’t a lot of other attendees here yet—Peter had wanted them to go early and get set up—but it still feels shocking, to walk around naked but for his slippers and his pink event anklet, half-hard cock on display along with the rest of him until they reach the end of the row.

Peter sets down their bag of supplies, and they both eye the bondage table. Stiles bends over it, testing the height, and isn’t surprised that it’s a little too short for him. Luckily, Peter prepared for that, and pulls out a couple of towels, folding them into a cushion for his stomach and propping him at just the right height to be bent over the table.

He’s a good boy, docile as his Dom ties him with their rope, binding his ankles to the legs of the table and his hands to the opposite end. He squirms a little, just to feel the drag of the towels against his cock as he’s held in place by the ropes, and lets out a little moan.

“Thought you’d like that. Now, I’m going to open you up and have you first.”

Stiles can hear the almost-question in Peter’s voice, and moans out, “Green.”

There’s a chuckle, and then the sound of the lube bottle, and he can’t help but hold his breath, waiting. Peter surprises him, slipping a finger inside, pushing past the slight resistance to immediately begin stroking and pulling him open. It isn’t long before a second finger joins the first, and it’s almost merciless, how efficient Peter is being. There’s no teasing, just extremely thorough prep happening, and he whines.

It gets him a small pinch to his ass. Not enough to make him clench up, but he still squeaks. “Don’t be a brat, pet. I know you’re eager, but if you want your perfect ass to take as many knots as your slutty heart desires, I need to make sure you’re good and ready for it. There’ll be a line-up out to the lobby to have a go at you.”

He whines against the table, eyes squeezing shut behind his mask. Hearing that shouldn’t make him even more desperate, but it does. “But you won’t leave?”

“Of course not, pet,” Peter reassures him for what is probably the twentieth time. “I’ll enjoy watching you get knotted until you can’t take anymore. And besides,” he pauses while Stiles keens at the sudden addition of a third finger and _very cold lube_ , “I have to protect my investment. Wouldn’t want some poor knot-drunk soul to think that, just because he got to sample you, you belong to him.”

It’s more reassuring than it should be. “Thank you, Sir,” he murmurs.

Peter draws it out a little, and there are more people now in what is probably a ballroom on a regular day, judging by the polished tiles on the floor. But it isn’t long before Sir is sliding into him, hot and familiar and perfect—until he starts thrusting hard and fast instead of his usual I-can-do-this-for-hours metronome pace.

When Sir’s cock catches on his rim, he understands, and moans enthusiastically. He’s being knotted, right here and now, in front of the other attendees as they come pouring into the event space, and he knows it’s so that he’s clearly owned, his ass ruined by his Sir’s knot, delicate tissues soaked in come so that he smells like Peter inside and out.

It’s only a minute or two later that Sir swells up enough to not be able to withdraw safely, and he grinds instead, hips rubbing against Stiles’s ass as he finishes locking. The first gush of come is shocking, hotter than usual—and it doesn’t stop at one, going on and one until he feels sloppy-wet and desperate. “Sir, please?”

Peter gives a little rumble—it takes a moment for Stiles to realize it’s _pleased_ —rutting lazily as he reaches under Stiles to squeeze his boy’s cock. Between that, the thrill he always gets from being tied up, and the desperately slutty feeling of doing this in a room full of people, he comes, streaking the towel under him and spraying across the floor.

He slumps after, dazed. It takes a while before his breathing evens out and his heart calms back down, but it’s time well-spent, with Peter draped across his back, panting against his neck as they ride the intense high that comes with knotting. By the time Peter finally deflates enough to withdraw, a hot trickle of come leaking out as he does, Stiles is a little more with-it.

There is also, apparently, someone waiting for a turn, as Peter drawls, “See something you like?”

Stiles hears a masculine-sounding laugh. “I mean, look at him,” the guy replies, sounding almost awed. “Is it too much to hope that he’s available, or were you just dangling what the rest of us can’t have in front of our sorry faces?”

It’s said with good humour, and Stiles—he has no idea who this guy is, can’t tell with his masked face mashed to the table and come oozing down his thigh—gets the sense that this is a decent dude. It’s why he’s a little smug when Peter chuckles, tapping the leg that has his anklet. “Oh no, he’s absolutely a knotslut I brought to share. Though he’s human, so I hope you understand that a certain level of delicate handling is required?”

Big, unfamiliar hands smooth up his back. “Yeah, for sure. My sister’s human, I’ll be careful.”

But, as it turns out, not so careful that Stiles doesn’t feel the force behind every thrust as the guy slides in easily, his way slicked by lube and Sir’s come. Stiles starts panting as the guy speeds up, groaning, “Jesus, he’s perfect,” and then there’s another knot, popping sooner and filling faster than Peter’s had, and Stiles wonders if it’s because the dude sounds young.

But hasty tying aside, young dude makes it good, working his hips in little motions that rub the knot against Stiles’s sensitive prostate as those big hands stroke over every inch of him that they can reach. It’s just starting to get good, to feel like he’s close to getting hard again when the knot inside him starts going down. It can’t be more than five minutes before it’s all the way soft, and Peter laughs at his whine as the guy pulls out. “Don’t worry, baby. There’s lots more where that came from. Next!”

 

***

 

By the time Peter calls it, saying he’s done, Stiles is a filthy, come-sticky mess from the waist down. There’s an honest-to-God _puddle of come_ on the floor between his legs, which he can’t actually feel anymore. He’s wrung out, and lost track of how many times he’d been knotted when he came for the second time on the—he’s going to say fourth knot to plug his ass and grind relentlessly against his prostate?

He yelps when Peter shoves a large plug in him before untying his hands, because, “Jesus, hasn’t my poor ass taken enough?”

Peter snorts, but it’s fond. “Oh, it absolutely has. More than, even. But look at your stomach, baby.”

He stands up slowly, bracing his hands on the table for balance, and looks down—only to see that his usually-flat belly is protruding slightly. He shifts, and feels a distinct sloshing sensation. “Is that—?”

“Yep. You really want all that gushing out of you on the trip back up to our room?”

He shakes his head because no, nope, absolutely not. He’s a big enough mess as it is.

(Worth it, though.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to apologize for this being late and possibly not up to the usual standard of filthy porn you expect from me, given the shit week I had and how fast this got written, edited, and posted, but . . . PORN! Please just enjoy the terrible filthy porn.


	3. Day 2: Stiles/Chris + Peter; Medical Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: medical kink, hurt/comfort, aftercare, voyeurism, handjobs, anal fingering, roleplay, safewording 
> 
> Note: the "morning after" the events of chapter 2

“Alright pet. Up, we have to head downstairs for your appointment.”

Stiles buries his head under the pillow, groaning. “Oh my god, I told you, I’m fine!”

The bed dips as Peter sits next to him. “This was a kink you wanted to explore, and I told you that I was only alright with you participating at last night’s event if you received proper care afterwards. This isn’t negotiable. Up, shoes on, and meet me in the lobby.”

Stiles lies there as Peter gets up and heads for the door. He knows that he could safeword and not go if he really wasn’t okay with this, it’s just. “I don’t—this one’s hard, okay?”

“I know, pet. But I also know most of the clinicians downstairs, and I made sure to book you in with one you know. Now get your well-fucked ass in gear.”

He gulps, but goes along. He may or may not sulk as they head down to the first floor and a wing of hotel rooms roped off as the “S&K Clinic”. A short woman pops out of one of the rooms, sees them, and checks her clipboard. “Stilinski?”

“That’s us,” Peter answers.

Stiles doesn’t speak as he’s herded into a room by clipboard lady and Peter. He does, however, stop dead when he sees what’s inside. He’s pretty sure he also forgets to breathe, because not only is there an exam table, but Chris Argent is standing in front of him wearing glasses and a white lab coat.

“Um?” he croaks.

Chris smiles warmly. “Hi there, Stiles. What brings you in today?”

And that—that should _not_ make his cock twitch, but it _does_ , God help him.

Once again, Peter answers for him. “He was at the Stop ‘n Knot event last night, and was something of a favourite.” Chris winces sympathetically, and Peter nods. “Exactly. And he’s only human, so I insisted that he come get checked over.”

“Of course.” He gestures to the exam table behind him. “Why don’t you get undressed and get on the table for me, Stiles?”

“I—” he coughs, throat sticking. “Okay,” he whispers. He walks over with his head down, eyes fixed on the floor as he starts peeling out of his clothes.

“You know, if you’d be more comfortable, I can ask your Dom to wait outside? This should only take a few minutes.”

Stiles looks between the two of them, anxiety spiking, but once again, Peter answers before he figures out what to say. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone right now, and I suspect he’d prefer I stay besides.”

“That true, sweet thing?” Chris asks, and Stiles—Stiles can see that this, this isn’t really about humiliation for him. He might be playing out a kink of his, but he does genuinely care, and that makes all the difference. So he nods, and sees the tension melt from Chris’s face to be replaced with a smile.

He climbs up onto the table carefully, keeping most of his weight on his hip. “Tender, honey?”

Stiles nods mutely.

Chris looks to Peter. “Could you give me an estimate of how many times he was knotted last night?”

Peter tips his head to the side, considering, as he helps Stiles settle flat on his back on the table. “I had him twice, and there must’ve been at least six others who had a turn with him.”

Chris chuckles. “You were quite the popular boy, weren’t you?”

He blushes scarlet. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, now, before I get started, did you clean yourself out between taking all those knots and coming here?” Chris asks, snapping on a pair of neoprene gloves. They make his hands look huge, and Stiles officially has a semi now, not that anyone’s acknowledging it.

Then the question catches up to him, and he grumbles an affirmative, remembering the pissy hour he’d spent flushing all that come out. Peter smiles but doesn’t laugh, stroking his hair.

“Alright, well, let’s get to it, then.”

Chris swings an adjustable lamp over Stiles’s groin and turns it on before “helping” him settle his feet in the stirrups. “Alright, and knees open, that’s it.”

He complies, and sees Chris wince. “What?”

He startles at the gentle press of a fingertip against his—swollen, stinging—rim. “Oh, honey. You really got worked over, huh?” Chris doesn’t seem to expect an answer, instead reaching for an opaque glass jar of something on the desk. “But don’t you worry, I’ll get you fixed up.”

He can’t quite stop his snort at that. “And how’re you gonna manage that one? Magic?”

He gets a warning tug on his hair from Peter as Chris smiles enigmatically, dipping two fingers into the jar. “Something like that.”

And then there are slick fingers pushing against where he’s raw, and he can’t help yelping. Trying to scramble back is instinctive, and it takes a moment to register that Sir’s got him, is holding him still and murmuring in his ear.

“Shh, baby, shh, shh. Give me a colour.”

He drags in a hitching breath and stutters out, “Y-yellow?”

Sir holds him tighter. “What do you need, pet?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t—what’s actually going on here? I can’t just, the kink is cool but it hurts and I can’t—”

“It’s alright,” Peter murmurs, kissing his temple. “Right, Christopher?”

“Of course. Can you look at me, Stiles?” It’s harder than it should be to open his eyes and look up, but he does, and there’s nothing but concern in those pale blue eyes. “Hey, honey. I’m sorry for that, didn’t realize you were quite that sensitive right now. This,” Chris holds up the still-open jar, “is a little something made by magic users for the conference goers. It’s a healing salve for delicate tissues, specifically for these kinds of injuries. The conference buys a stock of it every year, because there are always attendees who don’t have accelerated healing.”

“Oh.” He pauses to think about that. “So that—that really will fix me right up?”

Chris nods. “Mhm, sure will. You’re the fourth person I’ve seen today, so I can assure you that this batch works. I just have to get it where you need it.”

He blushes, but now that he understands, it’s easy to nod. “Yeah, okay.” He bites his lip. “Please make it better, Dr. Argent?”

Heat flashes across Chris’s face, and _oh_ , this—he definitely gets off on this. Stiles files that away for later, thinks about bringing it up with Sir when they go home, and lies back down. Takes the deep breath when he’s told, and whimpers as salve-coated fingers sink inside his ass easily, still loose from last night.

He nearly jackknifes when gloved fingers push against his prostate, and it’s only the hand Sir plants on his belly that keeps him where he is. Chris chuckles. “Easy now, honey. I’m just rubbing the salve in.”

His erection, which had flagged a little, is now hard and pulsing against the crease of his thigh. “I, ah, think there is okay?” he pants.

The fingers sink deeper, and holy god, he’s never going to be able to look at Chris’s hands without thinking about this, he did not realize they were this _long_. “Now, now, honey, be a good boy and let me make it better.”

He whines as his dick blurts pre-come across his hip. Chris and Peter both ignore it as those wicked fingers push deep, massaging the salve in. Between the stimulation and the fact that he can feel it working, the painful heat receding as the unguent is absorbed, he’s getting desperate, whining and begging wordlessly.

He’s not sure whether to cry in relief or scream in frustration when those tormenting fingers are withdrawn. He shouts when a gloved hand wraps around his cock. “Hmm, this is also looking pretty raw. I think this needs a coat of salve, too.”

“Oh, I agree, doctor,” Peter purrs, and it’s too much, the way he’s being firmly held in place as Chris’s sure hands play his body, the salve making his cock tingle as he’s squeezed expertly.

He comes with a punched-out sound, and Peter hums, pleased. Chris lets him go, and pulls the gloves off. “Looks like you’re all set, Mr. Stilinski. But if something like this happens again, you come back, you hear?”

His throat clicks as he swallows. “Yes, Dr. Argent.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, but I wasn't even going to _write_ for the day 2 prompt until Bunny was a monster and shoved this idea at me. 
> 
> Next instalment is a few days out, but here's hoping you enjoy this in the meantime!


	4. Day 3: Chris/Allison; Incest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: weirdly soft father/daughter incest, sex injuries, vaginal fingering, hurt/comfort, mild medical kink, Daddy kink

 

The last thing Chris expects when he lets himself into his hotel room is to find Allison rooting through his suitcase.

“You know, when I gave you the spare key to my room, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

She spins around, eyes wide and guilty just like they were when she was six and he caught her sneaking candy. “I was just—”

“Spare me whatever lie you’re trying to think up.” She wilts under his glare, nodding. “Now then. What are you looking for?”

She nibbles her bottom lip for a moment before muttering, “Healing salve.”

His eyebrows shoot up his face. “The salve—the stuff the clinic downstairs uses?” She nods, and he drags a hand over his face. “Honey, that’s not mine. It’s for conference goers, and they keep track of it. If you need some, you should go downstairs and get someone to apply it for you.”

She’s shaking her head before he finishes. “I don’t—I can’t.”

It takes a moment before it clicks. “Are you—sweetie, are you embarrassed?”

“No!” She crosses her arms and looks away. “Maybe?”

He sighs, because his baby girl, for all that she’s a lethal badass, is ridiculous sometimes. “Come on, sweetie,” he says, holding out his hand.

She crosses the room and slips her palm into his, trusting, even as she asks, “Where are we going?”

“Downstairs, to the clinic.”

“Daddy, _no_ —”

“Baby, _yes_. There are rules with this stuff. Who uses it gets written down, in case of a bad batch or bad reaction, and so the organizers can keep track of how much they need. If you buy some of it yourself, that’s one thing, because you’re taking responsibility for your use of it, but that option won’t be available until the last day of the conference, and it sounds like you need it now.”

She lets herself be towed along silently, and soon enough, he’s opening the door to “his” room of the clinic. He flips the lights on and nods towards the exam table. “Pants off and up on the table, baby.”

“What?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you know which salve you need?”

Allison flushes, her mouth opening wordlessly. “There’s more than one?”

He pulls on a pair of gloves. “Is there only one kind of sex injury?”

At that, she goes quiet, but it’s the thoughtful kind. Eventually she nods, and strips off. They aren’t quite as body-casual as werewolves, but she’s been a gymnast all her life and a hunter besides.

He can still see how hard it is for her to hop up onto the table. “Good girl.” He drops a kiss on her forehead, and then guides her thighs apart. When he sees the mess someone’s made of her, he hisses, “What happened?”

“I, uh. Hooked up with someone I met at dinner. I dunno what he was, and he stopped when I safeworded, but. Yeah.” She won’t look him in the eye, but that’s the least of his concerns right now.

His baby girl’s inner thighs are mottled with friction burn, and the lips of her cunt are an angry red. He wants to rub his eyes, but he doesn’t want to have to replace his gloves. “Alright, so, first of all—if you want to hookup that’s your prerogative, but you ask what species you’re jumping into bed with, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Also, in future, if you’re hopping into bed with someone who you suspect isn’t human, you better let them know you _are_. There are a lot of kinds who can take a certain amount of abuse, even enjoy it, and walk away without a care because they have supernatural healing. You can’t.”

Her “Yes, Daddy,” is more subdued this time, but he knows she’ll take it to heart.

“Okay. I’m gonna check inside, see what you need.”

“D-do you have to?”

Her cheeks are red, and it’s creeping down her throat. He kisses her cheek. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, honey. Daddy’s gonna make it better, I promise.”

She whimpers and that’s the moment he understands—it’s not just embarrassment making her flush. She’s _enjoying_ this. And he’s a terrible, terrible man, but it’s an intense power rush to know he has that effect on her, so he maybe leans into it. Just a little.

“Feet up in the stirrups for Daddy, now.” She complies, shivering at the cold of the table under her back and against the sensitive soles of her feet, and he rests his left hand on her lower belly. “I’m gonna open you up, baby, take a look-see. I’ll be quick, and it’ll probably be uncomfortable, but I need you to be honest with me about how much it hurts, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, fingers clutching the hem of her oversized sleep-shirt.

He peels her open with his left hand, wincing in sympathy as she hisses. She’s red and swollen, and it almost looks like—he turns on the adjustable lamp, and eases two fingers inside her, spreading them to double-check.

“Daddy, hurts,” she whines, and when he looks, her eyes are glassy.

He nods. “I’m not surprised, baby. You’re torn.”

“I’m _what_?”

“Torn,” he repeats, looking for the medium-potency and standard salves. “From the look of things, you were in bed with a cat shifter of some kind in beta shift.”

“How can you tell?”

When he looks over his shoulder, he can see that she’s propped up on her elbows, knees still splayed wide and showing off her poor abused cunt. “You know how werewolves have knots?”

“Yeah?” she replies slowly.

“Some cat shifters have barbs.”

“Barbed wh— _oh_!”

He sits on the rolling stool, opened jars within reach. It puts him at eye-level with her lap, and he realizes it’s not just her inner lips that are swollen—her clit is, too. “How long ago did this happen, baby?”

“Um, maybe half an hour ago?”

He hums, smoothing the standard salve over the friction burn on her inner thighs, and a pulse of heat flares in his gut when it makes her hips twitch. He lingers, continuing to massage even as the irritation starts to fade, just to watch the way it makes fresh slick glisten into existence between her folds. It’s obvious his sweet girl never got to come, wasn’t able to get what she was looking for, and he makes his mind to fix that, too.

After all, he did promise to make it better.

He scoops up a generous dollop of the stronger salve, and eases it inside her. She yelps, but holds still, hands white-knuckled against the sides of the exam table. “I know, honey, I know it burns at first. Just breathe through it, it’ll ease in a minute, you’re being so brave for me.”

He twists his fingers, spreading it around her entrance and pushing deep until his fingertips bump her cervix. She’s tense, and it’s hard to manoeuvre because he doesn’t want to hurt her, so he goes slow and careful, patient as he always is when her wellbeing is on the line.

When she suddenly lets out a shuddery breath and relaxes, he knows the initial sting has worn off, and murmurs, “There we go. Thank you for being such a good girl for me.”

“W-welcome, Daddy. Is—am I okay now?”

He hums. “It really would be best if I rubbed it in. A little friction goes a long way towards getting this stuff to kick in.”

She bites her bottom lip, but nods, and the heat in his gut is worse, now, hotter and deeper, and he accepts that he’s awful and probably deserves to be shot, but his baby girl deserves to come more, so he curls his fingers, massaging her g-spot and bringing his other hand up to trail his finger delicately over her clit. He doesn’t know how she likes it, if she prefers circles or stimulation to one side, a feather-light touch or harsher pressure, but he does know that pain sensitizes, so he rubs at her insides and brushes steadily back and forth over her clit until she spasms under and around his hands with a breathless shriek.

He looks up at her, after, wondering if he’s gone too far. But there’s a shy smile on her lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, Daddy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first foray into this kink, and I was a tad nervous to write it. So if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a word or three to let me know?


	5. Day 11: Cross-dressing + Object Insertion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Steter, cross-dressing, corsets, anal fingering, feminization, sex toys, public D/s

Stiles takes a deep breath when he’s told, and feels Peter do up the laces of the corset he’d initially been unsure about, but finds stupidly hot now that he’s in it. He’s half-hard inside the jock strap keeping his dick under control—he doesn’t want to ruin the line of his dress, after all.

Peter helps him get into it, because while he’s always loved the idea of this, he’s never—this is the first time, and women’s clothing is ridiculous from the fuckery they deem sizing to the placement of zippers. But when it’s done up, and he looks at himself in the mirror, it’s worth it. It couldn’t be anything else.

Peter’s eyes glitter over his shoulder as he stares at the way the crimson dress hugs his slight, corset-created curves before flaring out in a soft bell that ends near his ankles. Even he has to admit that he’s beautiful, though he’s pretty sure it’s the magic of the dress. When he meets Peter’s eyes in the mirror, he nods.

“Ready for the finishing touches, pet?”

“Yes, Sir,” he murmurs. “How—where should we do this?”

Peter considers for a moment. “Over the bed, I think. I’ll grab a towel, make sure we don’t ruin your lovely dress.”

He nods and gets into position, bending over carefully as far as he can in the corset, bracing himself on his forearms. Peter lifts his skirt, draping it over his shoulders. “Alright, pet. I’m going to open you up now, make sure your sweet little cunt is wet and ready for me later.”

He moans, rocking back onto the slick fingers that are only just breaching him. Sir doesn’t tease, sinking them inside and crooking them over his prostate. “Mm, greedy girl.”

He whines, shocked by the way it makes him leak into the jock strap. But he’s good, holding still as he’s opened up with two fingers and then three, a final four before their biggest plug is pushed into him without mercy despite the way he shakes and possibly even begs.

Peter wipes his hands on the towel, saying, “Up you get, darling. Fix your skirt for me, that’s a good girl.”

He does, and every movement shifts the plug inside him, has it teasingly gliding across his prostate, but he obeys. It gets him a nod. “Now then, time to finish getting ready, pet. Doors open in half an hour, so go do your makeup while I get dressed.”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He has no idea how he’s gonna get through the next hour—or longer, depending on how long Sir decides they’ll stay—desperately horny and paraded around in front of people who know it, who’ll see it on his face even if they can’t smell it on him, but he knows Sir will make it worth it when they get back to their room.

 


	6. Day 14: Cora/Lydia; cunnilingus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: genderfluid Cora, oral sex/cunnilingus, Daddy kink, overstimulation

 

“Daddy, please!” Lydia begs, and the poor thing really doesn’t even know what she’s begging for—a break, to come, to get fingered, fucked.

Cora lifts away from where they’re mouthing at her possibly-oversensitive clit. “Right here, princess. Daddy’s got you.”

She jerks against the leather cuffs securing her to the headboard. “Please, I _can’t_.”

They tut, and then drag their tongue over her slick folds and clit obnoxiously. “Now, see, I don’t think that’s true. I think you have one more in you.”

Lydia sobs, thrashing a little, but doesn’t safeword—which is the bit that matters—so Cora goes back to what they were doing, alternating between dipping their tongue inside her needy cunt and nibbling at her clit. It’s not really meant to get her off, just to drive her mad while she recovers from the last orgasm and make her need another one. It’s a delicate balance, but one that Cora’s spent several enjoyable months fine-tuning.

Sure enough, it doesn’t take long before she’s squirming, scent changing from overwhelmed back to needy as she moans, “Daddy, please, _need_ it.”

They slurp at her, because they can and Cora will never get enough of the way she tastes. “All you had to do was ask, princess,” they murmur, and then their lips are sealing around her clit as they tuck three fingers inside her, deciding that, this time, they want to hear her scream.

 


	7. Day 16: 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: Steter, 69, Blowjobs, Oral Sex, Bad Sex, Sass
> 
> This one is just fun and ridiculous. You've been warned.

He’s a healthy nineteen-year-old boy with a sexual bucket list and an illegally hot, older werewolf boyfriend. They’re doing this.

Only, the first position they try—he’s on his back, with Peter hovering over him—gets the kibosh when his neck cramps suddenly and he almost bites his boyfriend’s dick off. He apologizes, and they switch, but Peter looks suspiciously amused, which, hell no, Stiles is in the mood for dick-sucking, not being laughed at, so he straddles those ridiculous shoulders and goes down on his elbows to get his lips back around Peter’s cock.

Just as he thinks he’s starting to get some kind of rhythm, hips rocking subtly into Peter’s mouth as he bobs his head, he gets another cramp. In his ass this time. He lets out a muffled curse, and decides to ignore it. Because orgasms, damnit!

Less than a minute later, the cramp travels down his thigh, and he nearly kicks Peter in the head.

“Sweetheart, if you want me to suck you, I can. If you want to trade blowjobs, that’s fine. We don’t have to do this.”

He pulls off Peter’s dick with a huff. “That’s quitter talk.”

Peter chuckles. “If you say so, pet.”

Stiles sits next to him for a moment, thinking. “Okay, so, I saw this in porn once, where they were, like—on their sides? With a leg up over each other’s shoulders. Pretty sure even my feeble human body can pull that off.”

A hand skates up his belly, and it makes him shiver as goosebumps break out across his skin. “You’re far from feeble, Stiles.”

He squints, feeling like he’s being laughed at, somehow. This asshole is so lucky he’s hot. “Uh huh, yeah, let’s try it this way, I seriously need your dick in my mouth like, five minutes ago.”

Peter obliges, and it’s—it’s harder than it looked, to keep his balance, and having one of those thick thighs around his head is weirdly claustrophobic, he can’t seem to get the right angle to deepthroat, and he keeps losing focus when Peter does something that feels particularly good. He redoubles his efforts, tries to pay attention to his boyfriend’s dick and nothing else, but said boyfriend has brain-melting blowjob skills and Stiles? Is just a poor nineteen-year-old boy with ADHD.

He untangles himself from Peter and flops on his back. “Porn lied to me! This is a _stupid_ sex position! Whoever thought this was a good idea should be shot, oh my god!”

Peter has the decency not to laugh at him to his face. “I tried to tell you, sweetheart.”

“Ugh!”

 


	8. Day 18: Fucking Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Steter, sort-of spit-roasting, fucking machines, oral sex, blowjobs, sex toys, kink discovery, dirty talk

 

Stiles nearly vibrates out of his skin when he sees it. Even after discussing it, after knowing what it was Peter had gone to get. The only reason Peter isn’t shopping online for one of these babies right now is that he isn’t sure whether his boy gets off more on the _idea_ of a fucking machine than the reality of one.

Hence borrowing one to test it out.

“I want it,” Stiles breathes, halfway between reverence and lust, and he’s gotta say, it’s a good look on him.

Peter chuckles. “I know you do, pet. Did you do what you were told?”

Stiles nods, eyes still glued to the gleaming machinery. “Yes, Sir.”

“Well go on, show me.”

The poor thing whimpers, but turns around and bends over the bed, legs spread and back arched to show off where he’s fingered himself open. “Let’s check and make sure you’re ready, shall we? Machines aren’t designed to be gentle, you know.” He runs his fingers down the cleft and presses two inside, and is pleased when they sink in easy, like a hot knife through butter. But the way he gets a shiver of arousal is interesting. “They can’t tell when you need it slower, or more gently, pet—they just fill up whatever greedy little hole is put in front of them.”

“Please, please don’t make me wait anymore,” he whines, and Peter notes that the fantasy of the machine is absolutely something his boy enjoys. Whether or not the reality delivers remains to be seen, but he can always add this to the mental aspect of their games.

He tuts. “Poor desperate pet. Alright, up on the bed with you.” He helps manoeuvre his boy into place, on his knees and elbows with those long limbs tucked under him. He’s at the perfect height for what Peter has planned.

He gets the machine set up with one of the larger toys they brought with them, and gets it into place. Stiles’s breath hitches and his heartbeat stutters with unadulterated want as the tip of the toy is eased inside him. “Ready?”

“R-ready, Sir.”

He turns the machine on, and is treated to the sound of Stiles wailing before frantically trying to rock back. And this is on the lowest setting. He can’t wait to see how his boy reacts to faster speeds. For now, though—“Alright, now open up.”

“Wha—?”

Peter settles in front of him, shoving his jeans down and freeing his cock. “Suck me, pet. I want to feel the way you moan around my cock as you’re pounded by a machine. If you’re good, I’ll even turn it up. Do you think you could come from that? From being filled at both ends like a greedy little slut, from my cock in your mouth while your ass is drilled by the machine?”

His boy moans and promptly wraps those sinful lips around him, and it only takes thirty seconds for Peter to decide that, yes, when they get home, they’re _absolutely_ going shopping for one of their own.

 


	9. Day 22: Peter/Lydia (+ Cora/Stiles), Cuckolding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so. I tried to fill the prompt of cuckolding, and . . . got this instead? It's not really cuckolding, but it's inspired by and close enough, and hey, look! PORN! *throws it at you and runs* 
> 
> Contains: gender-fluid character (Cora), bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, partner-swapping, humiliation, knotting, oral sex/cunnilingus, orgasm delay/denial

 

Cora runs the tip of their tongue over their bottom lip. Everything about the scene playing out on the bed in front of them is absolutely twisted, but they can’t deny that the loose boxers they’re wearing are soaked. Stiles whimpers, shifting where he kneels at their feet, and Cora runs a hand over his head, not taking their eyes from where Uncle Peter’s licking and slurping between Lydia’s thighs.

Lydia jerks, yanking at the ropes binding her hands above her head. “Ugh, c’mon, you _asshole_ —”

He pulls away, his chin shiny, to smirk. “Manners, precious. Wouldn’t do to disappoint your lovely Dom over there.”

Lydia looks over, and Cora raises an eyebrow. The fight goes out of her, and she whines plaintively, “Wanna come.”

Peter hums, sucking her clit for a moment and making her shriek. “I know you do, precious, but it’s been a long time since I had the opportunity to get my tongue in a cunt, much less one as tasty as yours.”

The scent of her fury-arousal-shame makes Cora moan a little. They know Lydia can’t stand Peter, even though she fantasizes about him. When Peter starts doing something that makes her legs tense and shake on either side of his face, Cora wonders if Lydia’s attracted to Hales in general, or if it’s the similarities between them and Peter that has her coming with a strangled gasp on their Uncle’s tongue.

Something to explore later, perhaps.

Peter sits up slowly, and makes a show of licking his lips and wiping his face. Stiles whines again, and really, he’s being such a good boy, sharing his Dom and keeping his hands behind his back, not touching himself even though his cock is red and standing at attention. They pet his hair, dragging their nails gently across his scalp. “Hey, Uncle Peter?”

Everyone turns to look at them, but they ignore the subs in the room, for the moment. “Yes?”

“You mind if I borrow your boy’s mouth?”

Stiles squeaks, pulling against their grip on his hair to stare at Peter—who tips his head, considering. “I mean, if you want to, I don’t mind, but I don’t think he’d be any good. No experience with the equipment, I’m afraid.”

Another gush of slick soaks their boxers at the scent of Stiles’s humiliated arousal. They hum, and strip out from the waist down, slouching in their chair, legs spread wide. “Well, there’s no harm in teaching him, and he _has_ been good.”

Peter hums, amused, as they drag Stiles closer. The boy’s all but quivering to bury his face in their crotch, but he’s waiting for permission like a good boy. Peter smirks. “Alright, then, go ahead. But Stiles?” He waits, and they let go of the thick brown curls so he can look at Peter. “You’ll come as many times as Cora does. So it’s in your best interest to apply yourself.”

He gulps. “Yes, sir.”

And then he’s looking up at them, waiting for their nod before they get the relief of a hot mouth and curious tongue on their clit. For a moment, everything else is white noise as they grip his hair and grind against his face, his moans and the smell of his cock leaking on the carpet causing a heady rush. When the initial shock of sensations mellows enough that they can open their eyes, Lydia’s writhing on Peter’s fingers as he stretches her for his cock, and Stiles is so eager to please that they nearly come right then and there.

Instead, they decide to make the possible best use of Peter’s borrowed boy. “Hey,” they murmur gently, and Stiles’s eyes immediately lock on their face, a little crease between his eyebrows. Cora smooths it with their thumb. “I want you to wrap those pretty lips around me, and suck gently, okay, pretty boy?”

He hums his assent, and does just that. “Ah—a little softer, mmm, perfect.” They drag their nails across his scalp again in reward. “Now, I want you to use the tip of your tongue to— _ah,_ _yes_ , yes, just like that,” they gasp, and holy _gods_ , if this is the level of head the boy gives, they may have borrow him from Uncle Peter again sometime. 

They press against the back of his head with both hands, hips pushing up into the heaven that is his mouth, and watch as Peter pulls one of Lydia’s legs over his shoulder before pushing her other leg out, putting her on display for Cora. She’s shiny-wet, already puffy and pink, and Cora’s suddenly hungry to watch their girlfriend take Peter’s cock.

“Go on, then, princess, ask him nicely.” Lydia blushes furiously, a splotchy pink that crawls up her throat and across her cheeks as she turns her head to the side.

She doesn’t speak, the little brat, but apparently Peter’s got some experience with those, because he rubs the head of his cock against her, teasing but not pressing inside. Lydia whines, canting her hips up, and he chuckles. “Now, now, precious, only good little cocksluts get fucked. Disobedient little cunts get teased.”

He keeps rubbing, the tip catching where she wants it but no more than that, and she breaks, eyes scrunched shut as she whimpers, “Please fuck me, Uncle Peter, need it,” and if Cora didn’t know Peter was into this before, the growl that rumbles through his chest as he sinks inside her would make that clear.

He starts thrusting, and he isn’t gentle about it. Stiles whimpers at Lydia’s punched-out little _ah-ah-ahs_ , the slick sound of Peter driving into her relentlessly. The tension in the room winds higher and higher, Lydia’s vocalizations turning high-pitched and breathless as Peter’s grunts get deeper, Stiles’s scent turning more and more desperate and Cora creeping closer and closer to coming, but it’s not until Peter’s hips stop rabbiting and start grinding, until he knots Lydia with a growled, “That’s it, precious, milk my knot, that’s a good little slut,” that they tense, moaning as they rut up against Stiles’s mouth as they come. It drags out, on and on as they shake and mutter Stiles’s name, and the sweet thing _understands_ and doesn’t stop, sucking and lapping at them until they flop back, boneless.

Then and only then does he rest his head against their thigh, panting as Cora watches Uncle Peter lean back until he’s sitting on his heels, hauling Lydia’s lower half into lap so he can grind inside her and flick her clit until she comes, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes at the intensity.

 _Yeah_ , Cora thinks, _this was a fantastic idea_.

 


	10. Day 27: Chris/Allison, Gun Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: references to/implied incest, inappropriate behaviour, implied daddy kink, explicit danger kink, guns, sex toys, public indecency, foreplay, masturbation

 

When Allison agreed to help her dad host the gun play workshop, she clearly hadn’t thought it through. That, or quivering through one of the best orgasms of her young life under his hands flipped a switch in her brain. Either way, she’s still standing on a platform in front of a small crowd of people, soaking her panties because she’s got her dad’s arm wrapped around her and his favourite Glock brushing her throat, praying to who or whatever will listen that the shifters in the crowd will assume she’s just another gun-loving Argent.

They don’t need to know that the real reason she’s a mess of desire has nothing to do with the weapons—knives and it would be a different story—and everything to do with the man wielding them. With the way heat is pouring off him and sinking into her back, making her want to melt, with his big hands and the strength in the arm across her ribs, pinning her against him.

In an effort to distract herself before she does something really embarrassing, she tunes back in to what’s being said. “If you’re going to play this way with a real gun, you need to make sure that the magazine is empty. I’ve heard some people suggest blanks, but at close range, those can still do a hell of a lot of damage, especially to someone like my baby girl here, who doesn’t have any special healing abilities.”

Nope. Hearing him call her “baby girl” in front of a room full of people who can tell she’s enjoying this is definitely not helping her little problem.

She stumbles when he lets her go suddenly, stepping back to set down the Glock and pick up—another Glock? But as she stares at it, she realizes something about it doesn’t look quite right, and he gives her a small nod of approval. “Now, this here is a special model made by a company who’s contact info I have, for those of you who are interested. They make mock-guns that are expressly designed for doing naughty things with. They’re metal, so they’re expensive, but they’re also quality and can be sanitized in ways that a real firearm can’t be, which is why I recommend keeping actual firearms out of any orifices.”

There are a lot of nodding heads in the crowd, and, well, it makes good sense, but Allison had no idea that a company like that existed. But, then again, there are companies who sell knotted cocks and tentacle-shaped sex toys, so she probably shouldn’t be surprised.

She’s startled out of her musing when strong hands grip her hips and haul her backward, into her dad’s lap. He arranges her until she’s leaned back against him, legs spread. She’s really glad the platform is only a couple feet up off the ground, or the people right up front could see her panties right now. Maybe a skirt was a bad idea.

“Now, not only does this little beauty look and feel pretty close to the real thing—it’s got some heft to it, but it’s overall much smoother, in order to ensure safety—it also fits inside a standard holster, so you can add that little touch, too, if you like.”

The cold muzzle of the sex-safe not-a-gun trails up her inner thigh, and she squirms, another gush soaking her panties. Looking out at the crowd, she can see a couple of smirks, so there are definitely some shifters who know what’s happening here. At least in part.

Her breath hitches and her hips jerk when the muzzle rubs over her folds. “These are safely insertable, which is one of their best features.” He says it academically, but she can feel his cock pressing against her ass and knows that this is far from impersonal for him.

He pulls it out from under her skirt, and slides the muzzle—which is shiny with her slick—past her parted lips and in-in-in until it’s bumping the back of her throat and the trigger guard is pressing against her chin.

There’s a long moment, and then he pulls it free, and sets it aside. “Alright. That wraps up the demo, so I’ll set my lovely assistant free while I answer your questions.”

She books it out of there, and, finding the elevator empty, doesn’t bother to wait getting back to her room—she just pushes her fingers under the waistband of her skirt and panties, pressing on her clit until she comes, moaning. She stumbles out of the elevator on shaky legs, heading towards her room and favourite dildo.

 


	11. Day 29: Peter/Stiles/Cora; Double Penetration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! Final prompt fill. Thanks for joining me for another Kinktober, hope to see you next year! 
> 
> Contains: Stiles/Peter/Cora, threesome, genderfluid character, strap-on, sex toy, double penetration

 

He runs a hand up Stiles’s back soothingly. “It’s alright, pet. Deep breaths, Cora’ll go slow. You have your words if you need us to stop.”

His boy nuzzles his collarbone. “Not scared, just—I want it, but it’s a lot.”

Cora’s hands settle lightly at his hips. “Hey, we’ll make it good for you, pretty boy. Promise. Besides,” they pause, and Peter feels them ease the tip of their strap-on inside Stiles, the ridged silicone teasing the sensitive underside of his cock, “if you can handle being gang-banged, you can probably handle being the filling in a Hale sandwich.”

Stiles groans, but it’s amused. It relaxes him, which was probably the point, and Cora finishes sliding home. They pause, after, giving him a moment to adjust, but when Peter feels his boy’s cock start to leak against his stomach, he knows it’s time to get the show on the road. “He’s good.”

Cora locks eyes with him, a small crease between their eyebrows. “You sure? I like pretty boy, I’d rather not break him.”

Before he can answer, Stiles rasps, “’m sure,” and he gives his _I told you so_ look.

Cora’s eyes narrow. “Alright then. Hang on, pretty boy, you’re in for a hell of a ride.”

Peter grins at them over a mole-speckled shoulder, wrapping his arms across the deceptively broad back as he rocks his hips up. Cora mouths, “ _you’re on_ ,” and starts rolling their hips smoothly, and it’s no time at all before Stiles is gasping and begging between them.

 


	12. Closing Ceremonies

 

He’s packing to go, making sure he’s nicked the little soaps and bottles of shampoo from the bathroom when Peter asks, “Did you have a good time, pet?”

The tone tells him that it’s not an idle question, so he comes out to where Peter’s loading up his own suitcase. “You mean at the conference? Yeah, of course I did. Why d’you ask?”

He gets a pointed look. “Communication is important, darling. You know this. And, if you’ll recall, you spent most of the drive up here vibrating out of your skin.”

He shrugs, because fair. “Yeah. I mean, I was nervous as all hell about actually getting here and how it would go, but once we got here and started going to workshops and talking to people and participating in events it was really good. Although,” he laughs regretfully, “I think I need to go see Dr. Argent again.”

That earns him Peter’s full attention. “Oh? And why might that be?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because, genius, I need to be able to sit down for the car ride home. You and Cora did a real number on me.”

A pleased smirk curls Peter’s lips. “That we did. I’m sure the good doctor won’t mind patching you up for the trip home.”

“Ha, yeah, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one stopping by the clinic for a send-off.” He pauses, unsure if he should ask.

Peter, of course, notices his hesitation. “What is it, pet?”

“Do—d’you think we could call him? When we’re back home? Dr. Argent, I mean.” He bites his lip and bats his lashes, just because he knows it’ll make Peter roll his eyes.

“We absolutely can, sweetheart—just don’t get too disappointed if he doesn’t want to join us, okay?”

He nods, because of course not. “Consent works both ways. Or, well, all three ways, since there’s three of us. I just wondered. He seemed like he might be open to it.”

Peter hums thoughtfully, head tipped to the side. “He might very well be. But we won’t know until we ask, so we better go see the good doctor, shouldn’t we?”

He grins. “Yes, Sir!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be found [here](https://www.queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


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